


More Exciting Than an Alien Sea Monster

by LearnedFoot



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Banter, Crossover, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, M/M, Sea Monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23759416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot
Summary: A door on the box swings open, revealing a man wearing a chipper grin. “You look like you could use a lift,” he says in an unmistakably British accent.Tony glances at Peter. Peter glances back. They share a shrug.It’s better than staying where they are.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Tenth Doctor & Tony Stark
Comments: 24
Kudos: 137
Collections: What Fen Do (Instead of Going Outside), When Death Loves Flamingos





	More Exciting Than an Alien Sea Monster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aohatsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aohatsu/gifts).



> You asked for it ;)
> 
> Set post- _Endgame_ in a world where Tony is alive for reasons that eventually get touched upon. Set late Series 4 for _Doctor Who_.

Last time they were in space, Peter died. So, relatively speaking, things are going okay. That is the only positive thing Tony has to say about this situation.

“I’m fine, Mr. Stark. Go look at the ship, I’ve got this.”

As if. Peter’s seeping blood from a deep gash where one of his waldoes stabbed him after the Iron Spider went on the fritz, busted by the impact of their crash landing. All Tony’s fault—he crashed the ship, he built the suit like an idiot, he let Peter come out here in the first place—

He shakes his head. He needs to concentrate. Patch up the wound. That’s what matters. Make Peter better. “Pete, you don’t ‘got this.’”

“I _do_.” Peter bats at Tony’s hands, which are inconveniently shaking so hard they’re practically useless. He’s not making a good case for himself as nurse, here. “I can take care of myself.”

There’s a whine in his voice, as if he’s on the edge of saying _I’m not a kid anymore_ for the millionth time in the last six months. He acts like officially joining the Avengers is some magic switch that bestowed adulthood. It’s not. It doesn’t make him an adult and it doesn’t make it okay for Tony’s breath to catch when Peter wraps his hand around his wrist, tearing him away from the wound by force. All it does is put him in positions like this, stuck on an empty moon in a far flung galaxy, where just about the only thing they have going for them is that the air is breathable.

Tony should’ve said no. To the mission, to Peter joining, to all of it. Too late, and now here they are, and it’s his fault. Always. He rocks back onto his heels, raising his hands in defeat because continuing to fight over who gets to bandage the injury will probably make it worse.

“Fine, have it your way.”

“Thank you.” Peter sighs, eyelids fluttering half closed, which doesn’t exactly instill confidence in his ability to handle himself. “I’ll just stay here while you fix the ship.”

“I got news for you, Pete. I don’t think I can do that.”

Peter rolls his head to look over at the wreckage. Tony follows his gaze. It’s not all bad news: the hull is still intact enough that they can probably get a distress signal going. And—

No, actually, the rest of it is bad news. A smoldering, smoking hunk of bad news.

When Peter’s eyes flick up to meet Tony’s, there’s fear in them that hadn’t been there before. “So, what now?” he asks. He sounds small; it makes Tony want to gather him into his arms and tell him it’s going to be okay even though he has absolutely no evidence of that at all.

But he can’t do that, so instead he says with a confidence he doesn’t feel, “Now, I get a distress signal up and running, and we hope Quill’s band of idiots are still in range.”

“But—” Peter shakes his head and ducks his chin, suddenly very interested in his injury. “Right, sounds good.”

Tony doesn’t need him to finish the sentence he almost started. It’s obvious what he was going to say: _But we’ve been flying home for over a day, and they were going in the opposite direction._ They aren’t in range, no way.

He stands, surveying the landscape. Grey rock, grey rock, and oh look, more grey rocks. And it’s cloudy, so they don’t even get to see the stars. Really, couldn’t have picked a better place to be stranded.

With a sigh, he heads over to the ship to get the signal started, trying not to think the other version of that thought: _Couldn’t have picked a better place to die_.

***

Despite the grey shroud of clouds, they must’ve landed at whatever this moon’s version of high noon is, because as the day wears on it gets colder and darker, clouds thickening until the sky looks like black smoke. Peter does manage to dress his injury, but the Iron Spider is toast. Combine that with the blood loss and general chilly vibe of the place, and it adds up to the kid spending way more time shivering than Tony would like. He’s currently covered in a blanket, huddled close to a makeshift radiator Tony fashioned out of a useless bit of engine.

Tony joins him on the piece of wing he’s using as a bench, letting the Iron Man suit fully retract for the first time since they landed. Fuck, it’s _cold_. The cracked hull of the ship provides some cover from the rising winds, but they still feel exposed. It doesn’t help that Tony immediately starts to get lightheaded, like maybe there isn’t quite enough oxygen.

“So,” he says, pretending to be cheerful as he settles in, leaving enough room between them to prevent their legs from touching. “Got everything in order for MIT? It’s just a few months away, right?”

Peter glances at him sideways, skeptical. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what? I’m curious. You’re my star intern, it would be an embarrassment to the Stark brand if you aren’t ready to kick ass.”

That gets something close to a smile out of Peter. He pulls the blanket closer. “I’m ready, Mr. Stark. And it’s not a few months, it’s next month. Twenty-eight days, actually.”

As if Tony doesn’t know that. As if he hasn’t been dreading the moment Peter is too far away to swing by for a quick bite or a second set of eyes when he’s stuck on a problem. Some might call Tony over-reliant on a high school senior for socialization in the wake of his divorce. Tony would call himself…okay, definitely over-reliant on a high school senior for socialization in the wake of his divorce.

“Glad to hear it. Let me know if you change your mind about that car. I’m telling you, it’s nice to have in Boston.”

Peter laughs. It crystallizes in the air, hanging for a moment before floating apart. “You know I can’t drive very well.”

“Well, let me know if you change your mind about driving lessons, then.”

“Right. Sure. I’ll do that.” He shivers violently, huddling in on himself. “If you really want to get me a graduation gift, a trip to the Bahamas would be nice right about now.”

“Sure would.” Tony has an idea. It’s a bad idea. A very, very ill-advised idea. But, extenuating circumstances. Blame it on what he is increasingly convinced really is a lack of oxygen. He scoots closer, pressing their sides together, then brings his arm around Peter’s shoulder. Peter tilts his up to look at him, eyebrows drawing into a confused wrinkle. From this angle, it would be very easy to lean in and—

No. Bad thought. That is a thought Tony shouldn’t have. This is why this was a bad idea.

“What’s this for?” Peter asks. His eyes glisten like he’s close to tears.

Okay. Bad thought, yes. On the other hand, if they’re going to die, _would_ it be so bad? Just one time? Give them both a distraction—

Before the idea can finish forming, the entire concept is shoved out of Tony’s brain by an ear-splitting mechanical grinding, like a machine struggling to breathe.

What the fuck?

They start apart and whip around towards the source of the noise, behind them. There, appearing out of thin air, is a big, blue police box. Tony knows it’s a police box because that’s what it says on the top. In English.

Scratch _what the fuck_. Those aren’t strong enough words. Tony has no idea what strong enough words would be.

“Are you seeing this?” Peter whispers. “Am I hallucinating?”

“Maybe we both are?”

A door on the box swings open, revealing a man wearing a chipper grin. “You look like you could use a lift,” he says in an unmistakably British accent. 

Tony glances at Peter. Peter glances back. They share a shrug.

It’s better than staying where they are. 

***

“What the hell?” Peter breathes when they step inside.

Which, yeah. Fair reaction. This is not possible. Tony follows the curve of sweeping, hexagon-covered walls to where they meet in a dome above them. He takes in the supports, twisting and organic, like metal trees. He tries to makes sense of the draped wires, the console, the hodgepodge of buttons and levers. Most of all, he remembers the size of the box they stepped into, and compares it to what he sees now.

 _What the hell_ is right.

Their mystery rescuer is standing in the middle of the room, still grinning, hands in his pockets. The pockets of his suit. His Earth-style suit. Tony gives him a once-over. Suit’s okay, though off the rack. Tie is whatever. Sneakers. He’s wearing sneakers. Tony can appreciate that. Or, correction: he would appreciate it, in a different context. In this context, he’s too hung up on how the fuck someone who looks like a Silicon Valley hipster dipshit dressed for a board meeting managed to rescue them with a police box that’s bigger on the inside.

“Hello,” the man says, extending his hand. “I’m the Doctor.” He gestures around him. “This is the T.A.R.D.I.S., welcome! There’s also Donna, but she’s taking a nap. Learned the hard way not to interrupt unless absolutely necessary.”

Peter, being Peter, springs forward and takes his hand. “I’m Spider—” He catches himself, glancing down and obviously remembering he’s not in the suit anymore. They’d worked so hard at training him out of giving away his name left and right after the thing with Strange, and of course here he is doing it in the wrong direction. “Er. Peter. Peter Parker.”

The Doctor takes his hand, shaking it firmly. “Peter Parker!” he says, as if it means something to him. “Answer a distress signal, and it’s Peter Parker. Brilliant!” He drops Peter’s hand and swivels to face Tony. “That must make you Tony Stark. Thought I recognized that beard.”

“Did you now.” Tony’s not a fan of people having the jump on him, and this Doctor guy has been nothing but jumps. He doesn’t take the offered hand. “Seeing as you seem to know who we are, how about you pony up a real name? Fair’s fair.”

The Doctor drops his hand, stepping back. “No other name,” he says with a shrug. “Just the Doctor. Well, Doctor is fine.”

Tony snorts. And he thought Strange was ostentatious. “Alright, Doc”—he notices the Doctor cringe at the nickname, which means he’s keeping it—“so what the hell is going on? How do you know who we are?”

“I’m a time traveler. And a space traveler, actually. I travel through time and space.” He saunters backwards as he says it, stopping just short of the console. He pats it. “As I said, this is the T.A.R.D.I.S., my ship. I picked up your distress signal, and here we are.”

“T.A.R.D.I.S.,” Peter repeats, gazing around in awe. “It’s bigger on the inside.”

The Doctor’s grin reemerges. “I love it when they say that. And Peter Parker, of all people.” He gestures for Peter to get closer. “Come on, she won’t bite.”

Peter, showing a completely irresponsible level of trust, dashes to the Doctor’s side, instantly absorbed by the ship, fingers hovering just above the controls, as if he’s dying to touch.

“Whoa, this so cool. What does it all do?” He looks at Tony over his shoulder. “Mr. Stark, come look! This is awesome.”

“Yeah, ‘Mr. Stark,’” the Doctor echoes, looking incredibly amused. “Come look.”

“I’m good.” The Doctor saved their lives, and it’s not like Tony has any option other than to trust him right now, because there is zero chance he’s walking off this impossible ship and back onto the deadly moon. But that doesn’t mean he has to like it. It also doesn’t mean he has to believe every word out of his mouth. “Did you say you’re a time traveler?”

“Quick on the uptake.” Despite Peter dashing around the console, whispering excitedly to himself, the Doctor’s focus remains entirely on Tony. “But you would be, wouldn’t you? You’re Tony Stark!”

Tony resists the urge to tell Peter to get back by his side. It makes him nervous to have him halfway across the room, near this man who seems to know them, rather than in touching distance. “How can you be a time traveler? Time’s not easy to travel through. Trust me, I’ve done it.”

“Oh, I know! Pym Particles, ingenious. Not the best method, obviously, all sorts of limitations. But for twenty-first century Earth? You’re quite clever.”

“Clever?” Peter pipes up. “He’s more than _clever_. He’s like the smartest person alive.”

“Well…” The Doctor quirks his head as if he’s actually running through a list. “I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

“No, he is!” Peter insists. “He’s _Tony Stark_.”

Tony resists smiling. He’s got bigger fish to fry, but it’s very sweet that Peter can’t resist talking him up. “Yeah, what the kid said. More importantly, how do you know about the Pym Particles? Nobody knows about that. It’s top secret.”

“In your era, yes, but nothing stays secret forever. Eventually there are books all about the time traveling adventures of the Avengers. Museums exhibitions, movies, one very strange immersive off-Broadway experience. I don’t recommend that one, frankly. But the rest—you’re good, Tony Stark. You’re very good.”

“He is good,” Peter agrees. His expression is hard to read because he’s half obscured by the large glowing tube that extends up from the center of the control panel, but he sounds mollified. “So, this thing flies?”

“Anywhere you want to go,” the Doctor says, still not taking his eyes off Tony. “What do you say, any requests?”

“Earth,” Tony replies immediately. “As close to Queens as you can get us.”

“You sure? Two superheroes, out on a mission, you must be in need of a vacation.” The Doctor spreads his arms. “Come on, all of time and space, there’s nowhere you want to go? On me. Consider it a thank you for saving the universe.”

Peter emerges into Tony’s sight again. “I did say I wanted to go to the Bahamas,” he points out, which is not helping.

“We don’t need a spaceship to go to the Bahamas. I’ll take you. As soon as we get back.” Which…not a great idea, for reasons Tony does not have time to dwell on right now. But it’s a better idea that traipsing off with a man who won’t share his name.

“Ah! But you do need a spaceship to the _planet_ Bahama,” the Doctor offers. He leans towards Peter conspiratorially. “It’s like the islands, but in the future. And an entire planet. So, like the islands, but much better.”

Peter hits Tony with an imploring look. Who gave the kid permission to make his eyes do that? Who gave Tony’s brain permission to respond by wanting to give him anything he asks? Disaster.

“Fine,” he agrees. He regrets it as soon as the word is out of his mouth, but Peter looks too delighted for him to take it back. “But first we have to make sure Peter’s okay. Does this so-called ship have a med bay or something?”

***

The so-called ship does have a med bay, where a quick scan with equipment so high-tech even Tony has to admit it’s impressive proves Peter is well on the way to healed. There’s also a wardrobe where they find swim suits and beachwear—though Tony will be damned if he is going to wear a Hawaiian shirt. Miraculously, he manages to dig an AC/DC t-shirt out from the bottom of a box of sneakers (“I remember that!” the Doctor exclaims when Tony holds it up. “Great show”). Somehow, there is also a full wing of spare bedrooms, where the Doctor drops them off while he goes to do god knows what elsewhere. The so-called ship seems endless.

“Thanks for doing this,” Peter says when they emerge from their rooms a few hours later, rested and changed. Unlike Tony, he’s gone all-in on the beach vibe: big pink flowers on his shirt, khaki shorts, a tote bag overflowing with a bathing suit and towel and even sunscreen. Lord knows where he found that. The worst part is he still manages to look good. “I can tell you don’t like the Doctor, but he’s really nice and like, how often do we get to do something actually fun in space? _Space_. You have to admit that’s pretty cool.”

Tony sighs. As far as he’s concerned, there’re never doing anything—fun or otherwise—in space ever again. But maybe that’s an argument in favor of taking the opportunity to see the sights while they’re here. It still makes him nervous, but he finds it harder to regret saying yes with that smile radiating up at him.

“Okay, it is kind of cool. But if you get a space sunburn, I don’t want to hear a word about it.”

***

After a few wrong turns and a spiral staircase Tony swears hadn’t been there before, they find their way back to the console room. The Doctor is already there, dancing around the controls in a shirt even flashier than the one Peter picked, if that’s possible. With him is a redhead in a sundress and straw hat, which boasts a brim so wide Tony can only make out half her face. What he can see is covered in huge sunglasses.

“Ah, here they are, the heroes!” The Doctor says, spinning to face them. He’s very tiring to watch in action. So much movement. A little like Peter, actually, but without the adorableness factor to balance it out. “Heroes, this is Donna. Donna, be nice to our guests.”

“Oi, know you!” Donna exclaims, pointing at Tony. “You’re that rich bloke who’s always in the tabloids. _He’s_ your hero?” she adds to the Doctor, as if she doesn’t care that Tony is right there and can clearly hear her. “He seems like an ass. No offense.” That last bit is addressed to Tony again.

“Some taken.” He doesn’t need to look over to tell Peter is bristling beside him. He grabs his wrist, squeezing lightly, which he hopes Peter understands means to leave it. “Did you miss the whole Iron Man thing? Battle of New York, Th—”

“Spoilers!” the Doctor shouts, drowning out the end of Tony’s sentence. “She’s not there yet.”

“I’m sorry, _what_?”

“Donna, she hasn’t gotten there yet. I picked her up in 2008. _Early_ 2008.” He gives Tony a completely unnecessary meaningful look.

Peter, ever the fan, is almost as quick on the uptake as Tony himself. “But that was before—”

“Yep,” Tony confirms. Great, the one thing that could make this so-called vacation even less fun: hanging with someone who only knows the old him. He’s back to regretting the yes, Peter’s smile be damned. “You couldn’t have given me a heads up, Doc?”

“Why?” Donna cuts in. “What year are you from, Mr. Sleeps With Every Model He Sees?”

Tony doesn’t need the Doctor to tell him that revealing details is probably a bad idea, not that it stops the man from, infuriatingly, making a cutting gesture at his neck. Yeah, got it, bud. Not an idiot. “Not 2008, I can tell you that.”

Donna crosses her arms, clearly almost as annoyed about this whole thing as Tony is. “Fine. But don’t go getting any ideas about me, buddy. And I’m not babysitting, either.”

“I don’t need a babysitter!” Peter protests. “I’m not—”

But the rest of his thought is drowned out by the groan of the T.A.R.D.I.S. revving its unbearable engines.

Too late for regret now.

***

They land an improbably short amount of time later. It doesn’t feel like they’ve gone much of anywhere, but when the Doctor opens the door they’re greeted by ray of sun and the familiar salty smell of the ocean.

“We’re not on the moon anymore, Toto,” Tony comments to no one in particular as they emerge onto a busy street in what is unmistakably a beach town, with sand on the sidewalk and creatures of all shapes and sizes jabbering cheerily about their plans. _Alien_ beach town, but definitely a beach town.

“Are they all speaking English?” Peter asks, which is a good observation. It sounds like it—and that’s without the translators Nebula helped Tony install in their suits. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“T.A.R.D.I.S. translation circuit,” the Doctor explains, handing them both large drinks that he somehow acquired from a stand in the two seconds they spent looking around. Tony tries his—it tastes sweet and non-alcoholic, which means he can let Peter keep the other one. It also means he needs to find a real drink ASAP. “Telepathic field. Works both ways, so if you get lost, just ask the friendliest face how to get back to Center street. Avoid anyone who looks like a rhino.”

Tony’s hand instinctively finds Peter’s shoulder. They are _not_ getting lost. “Are you saying your ship stuck something in our heads without permission?”

“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds bad. Think of it more as a free perk of travelling with me.”

“It’s awesome,” Peter cuts in. He probably means it, but Tony has a feeling he’s also trying to head off an argument. “Now, can we go to the beach?”

***

They stake out a spot amidst the aliens, spreading large blankets in the sand. Tony is immediately reminded why he doesn’t actually like beaches very much: sand gets everywhere. He makes the mistake of grumbling the complaint out loud, which gives Peter the opportunity to make a stupid _Star Wars_ joke. Worse, Donna haughtily suggests that maybe he’d be happier if he’d worn sandals. As if he’s going to wear anything other than sneakers on an alien planet where who knows what could happen.

“I need a real drink,” he demands.

To his annoyance the Doctor insists on showing him the way, even though Tony is perfectly capable of finding a bar on his own, alien planet or not. On the upside, Donna has apparently warmed to Peter, because she doesn’t make another crack about babysitting. 

“Bring me back something fruity,” she shouts after them as they head off.

“Me too!” Peter echoes, because of course he already finished the first drink the Doctor gave him.

“Kid does not get booze,” Tony tells the Doctor firmly as they make their way through the crowd. Not that Peter’s too young for a drink here or there under normal circumstances—he’s about to go to college, for fuck’s sake. But these aren’t normal circumstances. He could be thirty, Tony still wouldn’t want him getting drunk in space.

“You worry about him,” the Doctor notes as he steers them towards a small pavilion on the edge of the beach. Under an awning made up of piercing yellow palm leaves sits what is unmistakably a long bar. Which Tony definitely could have found on his own, thank you.

“He’s young and kind of my responsibility, of course I worry about him.”

They shove past a few very large, very squishy, very _pink_ blob-type lifeforms to claim a narrow space at the bar. It forces them a little too close for comfort—to the blobs, and to each other.

“He told Donna he’s a full-fledged Avenger,” the Doctor continues, as if they hadn’t just paused their conversation to duck around a crowd of aliens. Of course, that’s probably normal for him. “That sounds less like your responsibility and more like your teammate.”

“I can’t be responsible for a teammate?” Wait. Why is he even entertaining this conversation? He grabs a menu. The translation bullshit the T.A.R.D.I.S. stuck in his head turns it to English in front of his eyes—fascinating, but also highly disconcerting—but he still doesn’t know what half the words are. “So, what’s good here?”

The Doctor points at something called the Medusa Cascade, and, ignoring the obvious attempt to switch topics, adds, “I think your problem is he died in space once already. It’s making you tense. I promise it won’t happen again, not on my watch. From the way you look at him, not on yours, either.”

Tony’s heart skips a beat, panic swelling. He grabs a lungful of alien air, centering himself. He is not going to lose it in front of this asshole. “Boy, you just know everything, don’t you?”

He’s not positive which _everything_ he means: Peter’s death, or the jab about how he looks at him. Apparently the Doctor thinks he meant the more obvious one, because he explains, “The books are very thorough.”

Of course they are. On the plus side, this conversation is helping put words to the anxiety that’s been nagging at the back of Tony’s mind. “Okay, Doc, riddle me this: am I seriously supposed to think it’s a coincidence that of all the people in all the universe, we just _happen_ to get rescued by the guy who knows all about us?”

The Doctor shrugs. “That’s up to you. Coincidence, fate, call it whatever you like. If it makes you feel better, I’ve read ‘all about’ a lot of people. I’m a bit of an expert on history. You could call it a hobby.”

“What history?”

“Most of it.”

Ridiculous. This man is completely ridiculous.

The Doctor waves over the bartender, a large creature that looks a bit like a hot rat, if such a thing is possible. Tony considers his new companion as he orders, rattling off a list of drinks at a speed that once again is reminiscent of Peter, minus the sweet charm. He doesn’t even stop to confirm that Tony actually wants the drink he suggested, just goes ahead and assumes. You need a certain kind of je ne sais quoi to pull off that level of arrogance, and Tony’s not convinced this guy has it.

“So, Doc, when are you from?” he asks once the bartender has moved on.

“Mmm.” The Doctor leans onto the bar, resting his chin in his hands. “I was wondering when you’d get around to asking. Wrong question, though.”

Infuriating. Is this what talking to himself is like for other people? He should probably work on that. “What would the right question be?”

“ _Where_ am I from. The answer is a long way from Earth.”

Huh. Tony has to admit, he didn’t see that coming. “You’re an alien? You look human. Or Asgardian, I guess, but in my experience they don’t usually wear sneakers.”

“Humans look like Time Lords, actually.”

Tony can’t help but snort. “I’m sorry, did you just say ‘Time Lord’? That’s almost as bad as Quill.”

“I’d have thought you could appreciate the overly on-the-nose, Iron Man.” The Doctor is clearly delighted with his joke, so Tony is not going acknowledge that he has a point. “Of course, I’d have also thought you’d have a sense of adventure, but it appears I’m wrong. Here you are, standing in the year twenty-five twenty, halfway across the universe from Earth, and all you want to do is get drunk.”

“Twenty-five twenty,” Tony repeats, chewing it over. The space travel part, fine, but professional pride wants to reject the idea that they sped into the future with a flick of a lever. Nothing about that fits with his understanding of time travel. But, fuck. Apparently last time Donna was on Earth, Tony still thought UFOs were a joke and magic was a thing dorks used to get laid. The universe is a vast, strange thing.

Which raises the question: if the limits he thought existed don’t, and if this Doctor knows so much…

“Why didn’t you warn us?”

The Doctor’s shoulders slump; his entire stance transforms from cheerful vacationer waiting for a beer to man carrying the weight of the world, barely able to hold up his head in his hands. “Thought you’d get to that, too.” He slumps even lower. “I couldn’t.”

“You couldn’t?” Is this guy serious right now? “You just said we’ve skipped forward five centuries for a quick dip, but you couldn’t warn us before Thanos caused unimaginable pain for _everyone_ , everywhere?”

The Doctor’s tongue works at his teeth. Then he stretches his jaw, like the words he’s about to say physically hurt. “Some things are fixed points, Tony Stark. They can’t be changed.”

Bullshit. “Convenient.”

“Not really.” The Doctor stares directly at him with eyes like endless holes, pain so raw Tony can hardly stand it. “In fact, I’d call it rather inconvenient.”

For the first time, Tony fully believes the Doctor is alien. There’s an exhaustion there too deep for any human to bear, and Tony has born a lot. He shudders and looks down. “Sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” The Doctor turns away, peering across the bar. “Good, almost ready.” When he turns back, he’s cheerful again, like a magic trick, or maybe next level emotional repression. “For the record, I may have, just a little, suggested to Captain Marvel that she had the strength to wield the gauntlet. Glad to see that worked out.”

Tony remembers the moment, Carol thrusting the Gauntlet on her hand and snapping Thanos’s army away. He remembers his conversations with Strange after, too. The wizard had been cryptic—when is he not?—but he left Tony with the unmistakable impression that he had fully expected him to die.

“Um,” Tony says. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to feel about any of this, but maybe he should try to be a little less of a dick from here on out. “That was a good tip. Thanks for the assist, Doctor.”

“You know, I was warming up to ‘Doc,’” the Doctor replies with a wink. “Ah, here we are! Drinks!”

***

When they get back to the beach, Donna and Peter are talking intensely, huddled together in a way that seems decidedly counter to the goal of enjoying the sun. They only look up when the Doctor and Tony’s shadows stretch across them.

Donna scowls as she accepts her drink. “Why is it that no matter where we go, something always comes up? Just once, I would like a nice day at the beach. No running. No death. Just rest and relaxation.”

Tony doesn’t like the sound of that. His eyes immediately find Peter, who gazes back apologetically. He has a bit of sunscreen on his cheek, which is distractingly cute. “Yeah, I, uh, kind of overheard some of the lifeguards talking about how a bunch of people have been dying? I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop! But I heard the word ‘sea monster’ and I thought it might be important, and…yeah. Sorry to ruin everything.”

Donna gestures at him. “See? Monsters. Why are there always monsters?”

“More importantly, why did no one tell us there are ‘always monsters,’” Tony snaps, temporary warm fuzzies gone. “That’s it. We’ve had our fun, let’s get out of here. Back to Earth we go.”

“No, we can’t!” Peter leaps to his feet. “Because, you know, I wasn’t _trying_ to eavesdrop, but once I started I figured I should hear the whole thing. And they were saying that management said not to say anything. Sorry, I just said the word ‘said’ a lot, didn’t I? Anyway, the point is, Mr. Stark, I think they’re trying to cover it up, and if they cover it up more people are going die unless we do something. Like _Jaws_.”

“Doesn’t one of the heroes die in _Jaws_?”

“Well…yeah. But they didn’t have superpowers.”

“They also didn’t have me,” the Doctor cuts in. “Fighting a sea monster with Tony Stark and Peter Parker. Brilliant!”

“You use that word too much,” Tony tells him. He looks at Peter. “Can we sidebar real quick, Captain Ahab?”

***

They sidebar by the ocean, though Tony makes sure to stay out of striking distance of the waves. The water stretches out past the horizon, glinting gold in the light of twin suns. The whole effect is kind of ruined by knowing that a monster might lurk somewhere under the surface.

“Pete, I know you like playing hero, but according to the Doctor, we are _five hundred_ years in the future. This is not our problem to fix.”

Peter juts his chin out, which means he’s not going to back down. “That’s not how that works, Mr. Stark. These people are still real, even if it is the future.”

Yeah. Tony’s not even sure why he bothered with that line of argument, it obviously wasn’t going to work. He doesn’t even really believe it himself. “Okay, fine, forget that it’s the future. You had a spaceship spear you in the stomach _this morning_ , you’re not ready—”

Aaaand that was a mistake, because now Peter is pulling his shirt up, revealing toned abs and a wound that’s almost entirely healed. Another argument down, plus now Tony’s mouth is inconveniently dry. He takes a long sip of his Medusa Cascade, which tastes like an Orange Julius, before belatedly realizing he probably shouldn’t be drunk if they’re going to be fighting sea monsters.

“Put your shirt down, I get it. Jesus, kid, you’re impossible.”

Peter does put the shirt back down, which Tony refuses to be sad about. “Sorry. But you know I’m right.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” He reaches forward, rubbing that distracting splash of lotion into Peter’s skin. Peter flushes, eyes dropping. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

Peter grabs his wrist as Tony tries to pull away. He doesn’t do anything with it, just holds it, prolonging the contact. “I know, Mr. Stark. But this is our job. Stop the bad things from happening, right?”

He really is impossible. Impossible, and infuriatingly noble. Tony extracts his hand. “I always knew you were better than me.” At least he gets to enjoy Peter’s proud smile. That’s something. “Okay. Let’s go kill a sea monster.”

***

“There’s certainly a life form in the water,” the Doctor confirms once they’re back on the T.A.R.D.I.S. He glares at his controls. “Problem is, she’s giving off a telepathic blocker. Makes it impossible to pinpoint her more preciously than a five-kilometre radius. That’s probably why the authorities here haven’t already hunted her down. Oh, she is clever.” He starts to pace, muttering quietly to himself.

“This is normal,” Donna assures them. “Soon he’ll spout some more nonsense, and we’ll do that, then something will go wrong, and there will probably be a ridiculous amount of running…”

“Sounds like a great process,” Tony replies. He hopes his tone conveys how little he means that. “I’m more of a cut to the chase kind of guy. What about a visual scan, infrared to see below the surface?” When the Doctor doesn’t respond he adds, “Doc, I’m talking to you.”

The Doctor snaps his head up. “That could work, but the T.A.R.D.I.S. can’t get close enough. She doesn’t mix well with this kind of bio-organic telepathic signaling—”

“Who said anything about the T.A.R.D.I.S.?”

For a moment, the Doctor looks confused, but then his face lights up, bright as a kid on Christmas. “Oh, yes. Yes, I think that just might work.”

***

It only takes twenty minutes of soaring over the ocean in the Iron Man suit to spot the monster, lurking so close to the surface Tony can see it with his bare eyes. Jesus. It has to be at least thirty feet round, with tentacles expanding out twice that. He doesn’t even want to know about the teeth situation.

“I found Jaws,” he said. “Sending my location back now. We’re definitely going to need a bigger boat.”

The reference doesn’t really fit—no one said anything about using a boat—but he can hear Peter giggle on the other end of the comm. Worth it.

***

They meet on a small island half a mile from where the monster is floating. By the time Tony makes his way there, the rest of the team is already out on the beach, Peter and Donna working together to carry what looks like a very large speaker from the T.A.R.D.I.S. while the Doctor fusses over a box with a cable running into the water. Despite being draped in what appears to be live wires, he stops what he’s doing to watch Tony land, delighted Christmas-kid grin back on his face.

“What’s this?” Tony asks as he retracts the suit. “Is the thing vulnerable to loud sounds? If there’s one thing I hate more than a sea monster, it’s a sea monster who can’t rock.”

“It’s so I can talk to it,” the Doctor explains. “While you were flying around, we figured out the poor thing is native to this planet. She’s just come in too close.”

“They’re building a whole new resort island in the middle of the ocean,” Peter adds. “Which sounds really cool, but it’s actually pretty bad for the environment, because I guess people haven’t really learned anything in the last five hundred years? Anyway, the Doctor figured out a way she can get back to the deep sea without running into anyone, he just needs to explain the route. Isn’t that amazing?”

As he says it, he looks at the Doctor with an expression Tony recognizes as admiration. Deep, maybe even somewhat enamored admiration. He recognizes it because that expression is one Peter normally points at him. His stomach flutters with something he immediately recognizes and then denies is jealousy.

“Yeah. Super amazing.” He does not sound like he thinks it’s super amazing, but Peter doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, with barely more than another glance in Tony’s direction, he scampers over to help the Doctor set up.

“So super amazing,” Tony repeats to himself as he wanders away to find somewhere to sit and watch the proceedings, since apparently he’s not needed anymore. He finds a log. Unfortunately, the proceedings are pretty boring to watch. A whole lot of the Doctor and Peter throwing wires into the water, mostly.

“Stop sulking.”

He startles. Oh, Donna. Before he can figure out a way to politely ask her to go away, she takes a seat next to him.

“I’m not sulking.”

“Can’t fool me, mister. Classic sulking.” She leans over, bumping his shoulder. “You don’t need to. Everyone gets like that around the Doctor, but it only took five minutes of knowing that boy to see he thinks you hung the moon. Even after you crash landed on one.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony says. It’s probably entirely unconvincing. He can’t keep his eyes off Peter as he darts around, lowering the speaker into the water with the help of his webs. Smart. He’s so smart. “No idea at all.” 

“That is because you’re a man, and men are idiots. Even supermen.”

Tony can’t argue with that, not when his heart is hammering at the sight of someone who hasn’t even started college. So they sit in silence, observing as the Doctor slips on a pair of headphones and starts speaking into a microphone. They’re too distant to hear what he’s saying, but he keeps stopping, clearly listening to something, so he must be getting a response.

“Is there any way this actually works?” Tony asks, mostly to change the subject. “Talking to a sea monster? Seriously?”

“You’d be surprised.”

And so they wait, Tony trying very hard not to care that Peter hasn’t once looked over in his direction.

And wait. And wait some more.

Tony’s starting to consider heckling out of sheer boredom when the tip of a scaly grey tentacle emerges just feet from the shore, rising high into the air before lowering slowly in the direction of—

Peter. It’s aimed directly at Peter.

Tony is on his feet, suit re-materializing in seconds, but before he can let off his first blast Peter raises his hand and…

High fives it.

Peter high-fived the sea monster. And now he’s happily standing there, laughing like this is the best thing that could possibly happen to him, as the sea monster gently strokes his head with its disgusting tentacle,

God, Tony fucking loves him.

Which is a hell of a thought to have on an alien planet five hundred years from home. He lowers the blaster, but leaves the suit on, just in case.

“He’s a good kid,” Donna notes, standing by Tony’s side. She pats his metal-encased arm. “You keep taking care of him. Else I might have to hunt you down next time I’m on Earth.”

She looks like she means it, too, Iron Man be damned. 

“You’re kind of terrifying,” Tony tells her. “Which is a compliment, by the way. I love a terrifying woman.”

“Oh no, don’t start flirting with me now, mister. I was just starting to like you.”

“Sorry, sorry, comment retracted.” Tony raises his hands in defeat. “But I will take care of him, just for you.”

Yeah, it’s all about this random woman they met in outer space. Totally his only reason.

***

The Doctor offers to take them back to the beach once they wave goodbye to the sea monster (“Her name is Sally,” Peter informs them, which seems implausible, even given all the other implausible things that have happened in the last twenty-four hours), but even Peter is starting to fade from all the excitement, so they agree it’s time to go home.

“Tony, you help me get the equipment back inside,” the Doctor suggests. No: commands. Still irritating. “Donna, show Peter where the shower is. He’s a little…gloopy.”

To be fair, that is accurate. Sally may have been a friendly sea monster, but that didn’t make her tentacles any less covered in disgusting sea moss, which is now smeared all over Peter’s head and shoulders.

“Yeah, that would be good,” Peter agrees. As he disappears into the T.A.R.D.I.S., Tony hears him tell Donna, “I want to take a picture first. Otherwise no one will believe this!”

***

They start with hauling the speaker back up, Tony using the gauntlet for extra strength.

“I am nine hundred years old, give or take,” the Doctor comments, apropos of absolutely nothing, as they work. It’s probably supposed to be impressive, but Tony’s pretty sure Thor is older than that.

“Don’t worry, you don’t like a day over forty.” He considers that statement. “Not that I’m flirting. I feel like Donna might pop out from behind a rock and yell at me if I did.”

The Doctor stops pulling entirely to consider him. Very helpful. “Ah, I can take it. But I’m not the one you want to be flirting with. Which is the point I was going to get to, so stop interrupting.”

“I didn’t interrupt! You paused! That’s called a conversation.” Tony gives another strong tug, and the speaker emerges, sloshing onto the beach with a small wave that washes over his shoes. Fantastic.

“ _That_ was an interruption. Now shush and look at me. I’m trying to tell you something important.”

Tony rolls his eyes, but he does give the Doctor his full attention. Just to get him to stop bugging him, not because he thinks he might have something useful to say. Obviously.

“I am nine hundred years old,” the Doctor repeats. “I have been all over the universe, all over time. And I still manage to fall in love. With humans! I recently found out I may even have a wife.”

“You _may_ have a wife?”

“It’s complicated. Timey-wimey, not worth getting into. But the point is—well, I think you get my point.”

Tony considers denying it, but if he’s so obvious he’s getting lectured by an alien, then it’s probably more pathetic to pretend his feelings aren’t there. “Yeah, and how’s that worked out for you?”

The Doctor’s answering expression turns mournful. “Sometimes wonderful, sometimes devastating. But that’s love. I’ve seen a lot, and I promise you: the one thing you shouldn’t do is deny it.”

Tony means to make a joke about clichés, but something in the Doctor’s eyes make the words catch. Too much understanding, that’s the problem. Too much understanding, and too much pain.

“Got it,” he manages to say. He clears his throat. “Message received.”

As if he’s going to take advice from an alien. He almost definitely should not take advice from an alien.

***

But as they wait for a car to pick Tony up after the T.A.R.D.I.S. drops them outside Peter’s apartment building, he finds himself saying, “Since space Bahamas wasn’t exactly a vacation, how would you like to go to the Earth version before college? Next weekend, maybe?”

“Wait, seriously?” Peter beams at him, and Tony’s heart does a double take. It’s nice to have that expression directed at him again. He really had been jealous.

Which is bad. Unhealthy. Exactly why he should not say, “Yeah kid, completely serious. You and me. What do you think?”

“Uh, yes. Obviously yes. Oh my god, that is so cool, thank you Mr. Stark.”

“I can’t promise anything as exciting as an alien sea monster, but…”

“Spending time with you is more exciting.” Tony can practically see the panic in Peter’s eyes as he registers what he just said. “Um, I mean, I don’t know if it’s _more_ exciting than an alien sea monster, but…it’s really exciting? Or, uh, not _exciting_ , that’s weird, I just mean you don’t have to worry, I’m happy to hang out with you. I mean—”

“Pete, this is getting painful.” Tony places a hopefully-reassuring hand on Peter’s shoulder, and tries not to be too delighted when it makes him blush and bite his lip. “I like that you think I’m more exciting than the alien sea monster. I like it a lot.”

Fortunately, the car pulls up just in time to save them both from saying things they probably shouldn’t. At least not right now. Not yet. As Tony sinks into the back seat, he buries his face in his hands. When did he start thinking about these things in terms of “yet?”

He almost definitely should not take advice from an alien. But he’s going to.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback is loved <3
> 
> Also, I went completely insane with this exchange and wrote about 20k in a week. Please, _please_ point out the inevitable typos that made it through. I will be grateful, not annoyed.


End file.
